


The Chances of this Biting Us in the Ass? Higher than I'd Like, to be Sure

by thefinaldigitofpi



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bit of gore in the later chapters, Crossover, Gen, Give me a break it's my first story, I suck at tagging, Loki may put in an appearance, Major spoilers for all Skulduggery books, Sorry for the no italics, but I'm not sure yet, i have no real plot planned out, implied Skulduggery/China e v e r y w h e r e, just writing whatever comes to mind, so if you're expecting a dramatic twist, you're going to be dissapointed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4099615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefinaldigitofpi/pseuds/thefinaldigitofpi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why is it that when everything goes wrong, the world always seems to turn to the same people?<br/>Well, probably because they've gotten pretty good at saving it, usually against all odds and in the nick of time.</p><p>Throwing a skeleton, his young protege and his scarred best friend in with a super soldier, a billionaire and a pagan god? This can only lead to good things</p><p>[UNFINISHED AND WILL NOT BE FINISHED]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Innocent Spot of Sneaking

**Author's Note:**

> Kay so just real quick, I wrote this whole thing on a phone that does not know what italics are so whenever you see a word like /this/ just pretend it's italicized. This is the first real anything I've ever written so feedback would be nice. Thank yoooooou  
> (Oh yeah, I didn't stick to the canon very well. Set post-Dying of the Light, but most characters are still alive (besides Anton) because I love them too much and Valkyrie's still an elemental. Idk why I just don't feel I'd be able to write her believably with her new power)

Dexter Vex didn't like Warlocks as a rule.

They were unbearably rude, for one thing. He and Saracen were just out for an innocent spot of sneaking into a town that was better described as a fortress when a woman appeared out of the blue and started:  
1\. Shouting something about intruders and - somewhat more fatally -  
2\. Shooting at them with those creepy yellow energy-beam-from-mouth things.

Rude, any way you looked at it.

Unless of course you looked at it from the Warlocks point of view because it was indeed their town/fortress and they were indeed intruding.

The town itself was perched on a small hill smack dab in the middle of a wood just to the south of Dublin. In fact, if you were driving /to/ Dublin /from/ the south, chances are you'd pass through the wood without even realising it. How? Dexter still wasn't entirely sure. Near as he could figured it, the Warlocks had placed some sort of distractor spell on the entire wood. Everyone that worked in the Sanctuary that was known to travel to Dublin from the south (including Dexter himself) had been interviewed, and their responses had been almost identical; "it just felt like this force in the back of my head, compelling me to keep my eyes on the road. I barely even remembered it until you brought it up."  
And it was entirely possible. Warlock magic was pretty much uncharted territory. No one knew exactly what they could do or how powerful they were except them, and Dexter was certain that they were simply too rude to let everyone else know.

The only reason the Irish Sanctuary noticed it in the first place was because of Tony Stark. He'd contacted them after his AI (Jarvis, Dexter mentally corrected himself. He was still adjusting to how life-like the program had become, despite his chats with the Engineer) detected waves of energy that they couldn't identity emanating from the wood to the south. To say the least, his interest was piqued when Grand Mage Sorrows replied, "what woods to the south?" Considering that no one in the entire country had picked up on it, she seemed remarkably upset that she hadn't either.

The spell had been easy enough to break. Simply walking into the woods with the knowledge that they were /there/ was enough, and Dexter had dragged Saracen along so he could exploit the awesome power of "knowing things." And get them to their destination faster.  
Saracen was very helpful in finding the source of the power; they arrived at there destination less than an hour after entering the woods.  
They could see nothing of the town, surrounded by a fifty foot wall of full grey stone as it was, with one entrance on the west side of the complex, guarded by six men.  
Saracen was, however, /worse/ than useless when he let out a high pitched shriek and scrambled down the hill for the cover of the trees, crying out something that sounded like "do /not/ jump out at me", leaving Dexter to fend for himself against the woman. Dexter didn't blame him - the man had no combat magic, so straight up fights weren't really his thing - but he also knew that this would be a very touch-and-go fight. Other dislikeable features about Warlocks included their ability to heal from most injuries and the thoroughly abhorrent power to consume their victims to gain power.  
Dexter was moving towards her, ducking and weaving around her energy beams like Ghastly had taught him and in a moment he had his leg snaked behind her and he forced a close range energy beam of his own from his fingertips, making a mess of her chest, forcing her to take a step backwards and falling over Dexter's foot. She was on her back and breathing hard, breathing with lungs that had just been obliterated, but yellow light was pouring from her chest, knitting it back together. Dexter took a step forward but he was too late, and she swung her feet into his ankles and sat up as he fell, yellow light already gathering in her mouth. Dexter kicked straight up, shutting her mouth with a snap, and he had a moment to register something floppy and pink fall to the ground before the Warlock opened her mouth again to scream.  
Ah, Dexter thought, gazing at the lump of muscle that was her tongue lying on the ground.

And staring at that tongue was probably the dumbest thing he could have done because now he was on his back, his entire body numb from the energy beam that hadn't penetrated his protective clothing but had still /hurt like a bitch./  
The woman had blood on her chin now, it was bubbling out of her mouth. Dexter viewed that with fascination because he'd read somewhere that tongues weren't meant to bleed much, and staring at it was doing a fabulous job of distracting him from his imminent death.  
And then the woman pulled a knife from her belt and good god she was going to kill him. He saw Saracen out of the corner of his eye sprinting towards them, but he was too far away. If the woman had been going to eat him, perhaps Rue would have had time, but she was too angry. She wanted instant gratification.

She wanted him dead.

She didn't even make it a meter from him when she suddenly shot sideways into the wall as if pushed by a huge weight. Dexter blinked as a huge shape framed by a blond mane of hair landed by him.  
"Are you okay down there Dexter?" Thor's voice betrayed not concern so much as amusement. Dexter grunted as the Asgardian held out his hand to Mjnoir, which floated over from the large dent in the wall, which was...well the details of what remained of the Warlock were enough to make Dexter close his eyes.  
Saracen reached them as Thor was cleaning his precious hammer.  
"Thor," Saracen panted by way of greeting.  
"Rue," Thor inclined his head, then frowned, and his hammer polishing paused. "Are you alright? You're breathing as if you've been staring into the rings of Seraseton for too long."  
Saracen opened his mouth to reply , then held up a finger and put his hands on his knees to breathe deeply.  
Dexter made a noise of annoyance and Thor looked at him.  
"Ah yes," he murmured, and tapped Dexter's chest with his hammer. A weak electric charge ran through Dexter's body, enough to drive away the numbness, and he jerked upright with a shout.  
"You're welcome,' the Asgardian grumbled.  
"What are you doing here?" Dexter snapped, still trying to shake off the jitters that wracked him.  
"Stark sent me. Said something about your intelligence that I'm sure a Midgardian like you would find insulting and sent me off. And I still haven't gotten a thank you for it. Do you know how long it takes to fly from New York to Dublin? I had to stop for breaks on a few ships on the way here, you shoul -"  
"Thor," Saracen reached up with one hand, the other still on his knee. "Thank you.  
The touching moment was interrupted by shouting as more Warlocks rounded the corner of the wall, drawn by the commotion.  
"We need to get out of here," Dexter said urgently. Saracen looked at him in utter despair.  
"Run?" he asked weakly.  
"No," Thor curled his lip in distaste and looked at them in annoyance. "Swear you will never mention this to anyone." He was deadly serious, and Saracen and Dexter nodded mutely. Thor sighed. "Grab my cape and hold on." Mjnoir was already spinning powerfully.  
Saracen grabbed hold immediately, but Dexter took the time to throw an energy beam over his shoulder before he twisted his hands into the fabric he couldn't quite identify, and Thor allowed the weight of his hammer to pull all three of them into the air, well away from the Warlock Stronghold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the sloppy ending. It was like three in the morning and my creative juices had run dry


	2. Brothers Among Morons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No action, but I just wanted some Bruce-Clint chemistry you know? I feel like it's the one friendship the movies didn't develop enough.  
> Again, I'm new to AO3 and I'm not really certain how to do most things so /this/ will continue to serve as my italics

The sixteenth arrow thudded into the bullseye of the target, nestled among the other fifteen and Clint Barton was reminded of just how /good/ he really was. Maybe fighting an army of aliens or metal men (or that one time in Uzbekistan he and Tanith Low had been forced to fight a small community of Children of the Spider. /That/ had sucked) wasn't exactly his forte, but be damned if he wasn't the mightiest hunter of targets in the galaxy.

He thought about nocking another arrow, but he'd noticed Bruce enter the firing range around twenty minutes ago and proceed to watch him silently shoot arrow after arrow, and figured it was time to address him.  
"What can I do for you Doctor?" he said without looking at him, hanging his bow up on a rack and flicking the button on the range wall that brought the target to him so he could retrieve his arrows.  
Bruce didn't answer for a moment, waiting for the whirring of the target to subside as it reached Clint. He reached out to begin plucking arrows from the target, and only then did he speak.  
"Ever been to Ireland?"  
Clint looked up sharply and dropped the arrows he was holding at the sound of the man's voice. He sounded as if he'd been crying, and only now did Clint see his eyes were red and puffy.  
"Once or twice. Not during the Sanctuary war or when all that Darquesse business was going on for sure. They didn't ask for help, and from what I've heard I don't think my arrows would have done too much anyway. Besides, we were busy dealing with Loki and the Chitari around that time, remember?"  
Of course he remembered. Not exactly something you forget.  
"I used to love Ireland," he monotoned, his face a mask of sorrow. "I was there every second day, most times. Whenever the Hotel was due to make a stop near Dublin I'd always make a point of getting out and about for the hour it was there." The Midnight Hotel. Clint nodded. The doctor had spent most of his time in the magical safe haven before he was caught up in the Avengers Initiative.  
Clint waited patiently for the man to continue. He was in pain, anyone could see that, but not the sort of pain that made Clint feel as if he was in danger. This was the kind of pain that could break you. The kind that made you want to curl into a ball and ignore everything but the anguish.

The kind that could make a man stop caring.

Bruce opened his mouth, but no sound came out, so he closed it again in favour of taking a deep breath and wiping the tears that were brimming in his doe brown eyes, and decided to sit on the floor.  
"The...the owner of the Hotel was a man named Anton Shudder. He...he wasn't my friend." He chuckled without humour. "For want of a better word, he was my role model."  
Clint mentally cycled through the list of names in his head before he found the one he needed. "Shudder. One of the Dead Men."  
Bruce nodded. "He was a Gist-user." And that was all the puzzle pieces Clint needed.  
"He understood the rage," Clint guessed.  
That hollow chuckle again. "He understood the /monster/. Understood the pain of keeping it down, keeping it out of your thoughts, out of your mind." He looked Clint dead in the eyes. "Understood exactly how /good/ it felt to let it out."  
Clint's piercing blue eyes never left Bruce's brown. Anton Shudder was on the list of the dead caused by Erskine Ravel's failed coup three years ago. Why was Banner only going to pieces now?  
"You didn't know," he breathed.  
"They're sending us to Ireland." The sneer didn't look right on his face as he looked away again. "The Avengers. I suggested the Hotel as an entry point. Said I could get in touch with Shudder if they needed me to. Steve had thought it was a great idea until he called China to suggest it."  
Clint took a step forward, and paused. He was a spy. That's what he was. What business did he have comforting the man? Bruce had said it himself, he didn't - he couldn't - understand. Would he want to be comforted by a man he had nothing in common with?  
Screw that. The Avengers were dysfunctional for sure. None of their personalities matched and yet somehow they were a team. They were a family.  
What did he and Bruce have in common? Goddamn, they were brothers.  
He'd crossed the room in three more paces and he was on the floor, the dark haired man in his arms, sobbing quietly into his shoulder, wracked with violent tremors.  
Clint smirked, and leaned down to speak in Bruce's ear. "You're...shuddering." Bruce snorted with unexpected laughter, probably leaving a mess over Clint's shoulder, and he was suddenly very glad he wasn't wearing his 'work' suit, because he was certain that wasn't going to come out. "Seriously though, I only have one question: why'd you come to me? I mean, you could have gone to Thor and heard some speech about how Shudder's joining the eternal banquet in Valhalla, that would have made you feel better." The man's shoulders continued shaking with mirth. "Steve would have helped too, made sure you knew that even though he was Irish, he probably died shouting The Star Spangled Banner. But Tony, now I can understand you not going to that ass, that man has not got a subtle bone in his body, would have just said something like 'he's dead, so are lots of people, get over it,' and you would've gotten the Other Guy to crush his skull."  
Bruce got to his feet. The smile he wore didn't reach his eyes, but it was more than they had a few minutes ago.  
"I came to you /because/ you understand the least Clint. You have nothing to compare me to. Everyone else has a side they hide. I mean I trust them explicitly, but....everyone of them has a side they'd prefer not to talk about." He smiled at Clint. "But you, Clint Barton. You have no monster. For a spy, you're surprisingly easy to read. You are - " he grasped around for the right phrase - "you are the book you can judge by it's cover."  
They stood in silence for a moment.  
"You know," Clint said, "I think this is the most you and I have ever talked."  
"I was just thinking the same thing." Bruce grinned.  
"This is probably the most we're going to talk for a long time, isn't it?"  
"Probably," he waved a hand dismissively. "How much in common do the world's best archer and a gamma scientist slash giant green rage monster have?"  
"Our family?" Clint tried.  
Bruce paused and smiled a small smile. "Our family."  
Then he looked up abruptly and grinned, a real one now, one that lit up his eyes.

"Now let's go throw our family back into total chaos by meeting up with Skulduggery again."


	3. The Joke? It's on Somebody, Probably

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah! I have discovered how to use this weird HTML thing so italics are here!  
> Also, sorry for how long it took, this chapter really didn't want to get out of my head, and I'm still not really satisfied with the result but it'll have to do

Skulduggery was absolutely certain his plan was going to fail. And that was the good news.

Valkyrie Cain crouched beside Clint and Natasha, peering around the large tree and wondering yet again what on earth Skulduggery was thinking? He almost never had a plan. And when he did, no matter the odds otherwise, generally the point was to, you know....succeed. This was...  
"This is dumb," she muttered.  
"Ever the verbal acrobat," Clint whispered back. She glared at him.  
"It is. Run me through this thing one more time, so I can tell you exactly how stupid it is." Natasha sighed.  
"You go out there, you get the attention of those pretty guys guarding the entrance," she gestured to the six burly Warlocks standing in a line with their arms crossed. Her voice sounded strained, but she and Valkyrie had a special relationship, similar to that of she and Tanith, so she patiently ran through the checkpoints for her. "You run off to the south, and hopefully get two or three to follow you. Run till you find Steve and Ghastly. Then you turn and beat the crap out of them."  
"Meanwhile," Clint picked up the trail, "Tasha, and I, as well as Dexter and Skulduggery over there - " he waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the other side of the clearing, where Valkyrie knew a similar conversation was happening. Dexter had shared every doubt and complained every complaint she had - "will eliminate the remaining Warlocks, except for one, who will 'defeat' us."  
"It sounds stupider and stupider every time you explain it," Valkyrie said pointedly. "So what, that guy is supposed to believe that two of the most powerful sorcerers alive and two of the _goddamn Avengers_ just...ran away?"  
"Skulduggery will kind of be the evidence."  
"By leaving behind an arm. How in the hell is that practical?"  
"More practical than his leg," Natasha smirked. Valkyrie glared for a second time.  
"Speaking of which, after I run for a kilometer or so, I reach Cap and Ghastly and I turn to fight. Assuming three follow me, that's one for each of us. I'm pretty confident in my abilities nowadays, but you expect me to take on a Warlock one on one when _Dexter freaking Vex_ almost died three days ago doing the same thing?"  
"Dex was unprepared and had no one watching his back."  
"Saracen was watching his back," Valkyrie frowned.  
"Saracen was hiding in the bushes like Courage the cowardly dog," Clint snorted derisively.  
Valkyrie sighed. She was never going to win this argument, so she may as well get this over with.  
"So how do you suppose I should get their attention?" she asked, peering around the tree again.  
"Probably like this." Valkyrie squealed at the sharp pain in her backside and instinctively jumped away from it, out from behind the tree and directly into the line of sight of the guards, who were now staring at her.  
Clint saluted her with the arrow he'd just poked her with and the pair moved off to find a better hiding place. Valkyrie made a rude gesture at his back, then turned her attention to the Warlocks, four of which were slowly advancing on her.  
"Oh hell," she muttered, then snapped her fingers and flung fire at one of them before dashing off.

The wood wasn't particularly dense, but she still found herself dodging the occasional tree as she ran, praying to god that she was running in the right direction. She threw a glance behind her and -

_Damn._

Four. Four of them. Why were there four? There was only meant to be three, they needed there to be only three, three was almost too much anyway.

Damn. Damn dammedy damn.

An energy beam blasted a tree to her right in half. In response, she turned and pushed the air right at the ground in front of one of the Warlocks, a trick she'd only ever tried on a Faceless one, and it was no less effective this time. The man slipped on the loose ground and fell on his face with a yelp.  
The other three were still after her though, and one of them opened his mouth to fire at her and oh god he was right on target and he fired and -

She was dead. She had to be dead. That's what had happened, the Warlock had killed her and now her vision was filled with blue. She could see nothing but blue, and the blue was all encompassing. It was unknowable. It was...

She blinked. It was Steve's ass.

Ah.

Valkyrie peered around it to spot the Warlock on the ground with a smoking hole in his chest, from his own energy beam. Steve just stood there behind his shield in all his star spangled glory. He glanced back and offered Valkyrie a wink. She grinned and got to her feet, standing on one side of him as Ghastly stepped up on the other, the light of the full moon playing upon his scars, his suit a masterful mix of charcoal grey and blood red.  
The Warlocks were at a loss. They stood facing a man dressed in an American flag Halloween costume, a teenage girl in a black suit and a boxer who'd gotten too frisky with a blender.  
"I hate this plan," Steve muttered.  
"You actually have a plan?" Valkyrie asked stupendously.  
'We have the beginning of a plan," Ghastly replied and raised his hands at the same time as Steve raised his shield.  
The Warlocks tensed, waiting for the attack.

It was interesting how unprepared Warlocks were for a Captain America shaped bullet to fly at them.

All the power Ghastly put into his air push made sure that the Warlock that Steve actually smacked into was out cold before he hit the ground.

Ghastly ran in and they took an opponent each, Ghastly ducking and weaving around punches and energy blasts, and Steve using his shield as much to attack as defend.  
Valkyrie stood back and looked around warily. The last Warlock had yet to reappear since he'd fallen over, but he had to be there somewhere, and he'd most likely be gunning for her. She was the weakest link after all.  
Ghastly rocketed a punch into his Warlock's side and then, with a spinning kick to the head, sent the man slamming back against a tree.  
Valkyrie blinked. A spinning kick? From Ghastly? He must have actually started paying attention in Tanith's lessons. From what Valkyrie had seen, all he'd done was stare at her ass.  
She felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, but ignored it for now.  
Steve feinted a kick at his Warlock's left knee, then slammed a fist into his face, pressing his advantage with a kick to his ribs, followed by a spinning elbow to the solar plexus and there was an arm around Valkyrie's throat and Steve had him in a headlock and -

Oh there was an arm around Valkyrie's throat.

She jerked her elbow back into the Warlock's stomach, then reached up to take hold of his head as he sagged and flipped him over her and onto his back, tried to stomp on his chest, but he rolled and swung his legs into hers, sending her crashing to the ground.  
He was on top of her now, raining down punches, but she had her head coverd and she breached, rolling them and now she was on top and in the moonlight she could see how young he was, younger than her, around sixteen, but he was still trying to kill her so she dropped an elbow into his face and stood as his hands shot up to cradle his face.  
Steve and Ghastly were watching her intently as she lined up his head and kicked it like a soccer ball, having since dispatched of their opponents. Steve's Warlock was asleep but still alive, a large lump slowly growing on his forehead.  
Ghastly's Warlock, however, had apparently gotten too much for Ghastly to handle without resorting to more lethal means. A large sliver of wood protruded from the man's chest, the tip red with blood.  
"Nicely handled," Steve grinned at her. A thin trail of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, running down and over his mask.  
"Thanks," she said, still a little out of breath. "Although to be honest, this guy...didn't seem that strong. I mean it was tough to be sure but like. He had plenty of chances to blast me. Why didn't he?"  
"He's too young," said that gloriously velvet voice from behind her. She turned to see Skulduggery standing there, the crisp navy suit he was wearing this morning having since been crinkled almost beyond repair, the right sleeve flapping uselessly in the sudden wind. "I daresay he has yet to go through his surge yet. His magic still hasn't settled properly. He must have still been in a state of indecision when you fought him. Nice job, by the way." His head tilted in her direction. "I would have lent a hand but it seems I didn't have one to spare."  
"You can just _decide_ to be a Warlock?" Valkyrie ignored the jest. Hand jokes were nothing new anymore.  
"Not in so many ways. Actually I have a hunch that Warlocks can just _decide_ to become sorcerers."  
"Skulduggery this can wait," Ghastly scratched one of his scars absently. "How did your half of the plan go?"  
"Considering you only left two Warlocks for the four of us? Surprisingly bad. Dexter got another nice cut on his chest to add to the collection of scars Valkyrie loves looking at -"  
"Oi."  
"- and Natasha has a black eye. And I lost my arm. Obviously. Fletcher's already picked up Clint, Natasha and Dexter. He'll come get us when I call him."  
Valkyrie frowned, worried about her friends, then glanced down at the young Warlock on the ground. He was actually quite attractive, with a strong brow and soft eyes. She found herself wondering what colour they were beneath his lids.  
"So what do we do with them?"  
"I hate to say it," Steve said, "but we need to take them with us. The living ones, I mean. Their story would conflict with the one we're hoping the Warlock that "defeated" us will tell the city."  
"Hostage taking?" Ghastly asked doubtfully.  
"More along the lines of kidnapping," Skulduggery waved his arm vaguely. "Besides, they're doing something illegal in there. Probably. That should be grounds enough to hold them indefinitely. And even if it's not, gee it's just so good to be friends with the Grand Mage."  
"Remember how that turned out last time," Ghastly murmured. "And with someone we actually trusted to boot."  
Valkyrie glanced at the dark look on his face. He'd never really forgiven himself for Anton's death.  
"Yes well,"" Skulduggery sohnded miffed that his joke had been derailed, "the fact that we already know how untrustworthy she is eliminates most of the guesswork anyway. Now are you going to pick these poor saps up or do you expect me to do it with one hand?"  
"Are you going to call the Teleporter and tell him to meet us at the rendezvous or do you expect me to carry them all the way back to Roarhaven?" Steve retorted. Skulduggery grumbled something unintelligible and pulled out his phone as the others picked up their sleepy Warlocks and started to walk west. Valkyrie walked to stand beside Skulduggery while he dialled.  
He put the phone to his ear and tilted his head.  
"Joke's on them," he said. "I have a spare arm at home."  
"And a hand?" she asked innocently, and he looked at her.  
"Well. Joke's almost on them."


End file.
